


Fuck Away Your Cares

by silverlining99



Series: Rain [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-15
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not done yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck Away Your Cares

Jim sits almost-uncomfortably close on the airtram back to campus, his shoulder and thigh just brushing McCoy's. The heat of the tram makes McCoy's skin prickle under his clothes, makes gooseflesh rise and itch against the soggy fabric. He finds himself wishing they'd walked, longing for the crisp freshness of the air outside instead of the recycled crap blasting through the vents and mixing every odor that every passenger has dragged in.

He focuses instead on Jim's fingers, tapping out a jittery pattern on his leg. He can't think of anything to say; he has nothing in common with this kid, nothing at all. "Any plans for the break?" Jim finally asks, his attention on the holovid advertisements scrolling along the sides of the car.

"Studying," McCoy tells him gruffly. "My ex conveniently chose that week to go to Mars."

Jim threw him a sidelong glance. "You...were going to go see your ex? Don't you kind of...not like her anymore?"

"I was _going_ to go see my kid," he mutters. "But now she's got her heart set on Mars, Jocelyn's got her heart set on screwing me six ways to Sunday, and I've got my heart set on not giving Joanna one more reason to be disappointed in her father. Guess we _all_ win. Hurrah."

Jim lifts his eyebrows at the bitterness McCoy can't reign in, but doesn't comment on it. "You've got a daughter? Awesome."

"Awesome. You find the fact of my child's existence 'awesome'."

Jim sways to the side and bumps their shoulders together. "Yeah. Kids are awesome. I bet you're a great dad."

"Oh yeah, I'm just peachy," McCoy mutters. He's annoyed, doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "What're you doing?"

"Figured I'd sleep straight through the first few days, see how much sex I can manage to have for the last few. The usual, you know." Jim holds a straight face for all of three seconds, then cracks a grin. "I'm sticking around for a leadership seminar Captain Pike said I should take. Figured it can't hurt and might keep me out of trouble."

"God help us all if they ever put you in charge of anything," McCoy says fervently. Jim just smirks, the quirk of his mouth making McCoy want to kiss it again, lick his way in. He shifts in his seat, the water-clogged denim of jeans suddenly even more uncomfortable. "Cut it out."

"Cut what out?"

McCoy leans close, lets his lips hover just next to Jim's ear. "When you look at me like that I want to fuck your face all over again."

Jim's intake of breath is sharp, sudden, and McCoy sits back, satisfied.

Until he notices Jim is still smirking at him - on purpose this time. "Bastard," he breathes and forces his gaze away. He can still picture it, though, Jim's smug pleasure at having gotten to him, his lazily self-congratulatory expression. By the time they get off the tram just outside his dorm he's hard and aching and impatient, and he stalks inside without a word to Jim.

God bless the kid for following him like a loyal puppy, or a hound on a scent. Whatever. All he knows is that Jim jogs along just behind him, stands too-close again as McCoy keys in the security code for his room. Just inside his tiny suite he turns and wraps a palm around the back of Jim's neck before the door has even finished its whooshing slide closed, tugging him in. He grasps Jim's hip with his other hand and squeezes hard, digs his fingers in. "Looks like I'll be fucking you after all," he growls, suffusing his voice with as lewd a promise as he can. He presses forward, bites at Jim's lip, hauls Jim's soggy t-shirt over his head. "Still want it, kid?"

"Jesus, yes," Jim says, shivering quickly. His skin is damp and clammy to the touch, tacky under McCoy's hands as he passes them over the muscles of Jim's back. His nipples are pebbled and McCoy shoves him against the wall and ducks his head to nip firmly at one. Jim's chest heaves under his mouth. McCoy slowly licks and bites his way back up to Jim's mouth, stops just shy of kissing him, dodges Jim's efforts to connect their lips. "Bones," Jim whines.

McCoy steps back to yank his own shirt off then leans in and presses their chilled chests together, grinds his erection against Jim's hip. He meets Jim's gaze and notes the red rims of his eyes, the lids hooded with desire, and tries to just _think_ for a minute. He's grown unaccustomed in the last year to anything even remotely resembling the feeling he sees reflected there, setting aside one thing and then another until he'd lost his father and his family and every damn other thing in his life, until he'd wound up here not because it was what he wanted but because a recruiter came to see him at just the wrong time.

But he _wants_ again, and Jim is here, willing to give it to him, and he decides once and for all to take it. Just this one thing, for himself, for now. "Get undressed," he says quietly, and lets Jim go. He turns away and unbuckles his jeans with trembling hands and strips them off with difficulty, the denim dragging down his legs and folding itself inside out until he has to kick them free of his feet. Naked, he goes to the bed and rummages in a drawer for the lube he uses to jerk off, listening as he does to the rustling sounds of Jim undressing. "ugh," he hears behind him, and can't help but smile. He hears water running in the bathroom and then silence, and then Jim's body is there, a strange wall of clammy-hot flesh, roaming lips, hands coming around to stroke his cock and rolls his balls. "Ready?" Jim murmurs against the back of his neck.

He tosses the tube he's found onto the bed and twists into Jim's arms, meets the kid's mouth with his own. He slides his hands down Jim's ribs to his waist, pushes him down onto the bed and crawls over him. "How do you want it?" he asks. Their cocks brush together and he resists the urge to just drop his weight and hump his way to another release.

"I'm easy," Jim says lightly, and McCoy laughs and sucks a faint bruise into the underside of Jim's jaw. Then Jim rolls over and McCoy moves back, gives him room to push up onto his hands and knees.

McCoy discovers quickly that Jim is no novice at getting fucked; his ass is tight and clasping around McCoy's slicked fingers but he adjusts easily, makes reassuring noises all the while until McCoy is stretching him open with three fingers, pushes back against each stroke. Before long he looks over his shoulder impatiently. "C'mon already, I'm ready."

McCoy slathers lube over his cock and lines it up, pushes slowly. There's resistance but then he slides in; Jim's back arches down and the kid trembles under every touch of his hands. "More," Jim demands and tries to shove back. McCoy steadies him with a palm spread wide across his spine, then slams deep and holds there while Jim lets loose a stream of cursed prayers. When it starts to subside he draws back and thrusts hard again, giving in to something desperate and brutal inside himself. "God, yes, like that," Jim gasps, shaking. He bows his head in a dead weight and McCoy grabs his hips, holds him still as he begins pistoning steadily in and out, long, deep thrusts that jar both of their bodies forward every time.

After a few minutes Jim drops down onto one forearm, frees a hand to wrap around his cock. The angle changes and McCoy just about shatters at the reaction in Jim, the low staccato stream of "ugh, ugh, ugh" every time he hits Jim's prostate. The muscles in Jim's back ripple as he works feverishly at his own cock, tugging desperately in time to McCoy's quickened pace. McCoy feels like he's going for something he'll never be able to reach, each stab into Jim's body falling just short of a goal he can't define but can't quit seeking, either.

Jim has, he realizes a moment later, a habit of going fairly boneless in the aftermath of an orgasm; still grunting at the impact of each hard thrust McCoy delivers, he jerks into his hand with a stutter of his hips, spurts messily. Then he collapses forward and down onto the bed in a flat sprawl just as McCoy is drawing back. They separate and McCoy curses loudly. He leans hard on one elbow and fumbles for his cock with his other hand, pinches the base as he shoves back in. The angle is all wrong now, the goal lost, the depth he wants impossible to achieve. But Jim isn’t moving so he just grips Jim's waist and snaps his hips down fast and fucks the kid into the mattress, lets go to the pace and the rhythm and the tension that grows and drives him on until he thrusts hard and comes.

Jim groans loudly, as if the orgasm were another of his own, then mutters something muffled against the sheets as McCoy twists his hips and rocks forward to ride out the end of it. McCoy lets his full weight rest heavily on Jim’s back for a minute before he pulls out with a wet, obscene sound and shifts to the side. “Next time,” he tells Jim, rolling onto his back and breathing hard. He suddenly exhausted and wrung out, his thoughts going hazy. “Next time you don’t come until I tell you to.”

Jim snorts quietly. “Shit, but you're a domineering bastard. What makes you think I’m gonna let you fuck me again?”

As tired as he is, McCoy manages to lever himself up and manhandle Jim onto his back, so he can lean over him and kiss him hard, curl a teasingly loose fist around Jim’s half-erect cock. “A few things,” he grumbles against Jim’s lips. “The fact that you _are_ easy and you'll take it wherever you can get it, won’t you? That you know you don’t have to chat me up to get me into bed now, and I’ll damn well punch in the mouth if you even think of promising to call or something stupid like that, and I don’t give a good god damn who else you fuck as long as your boosters are up to date.”

Jim yawns hugely, right into his face. “So friends with benefits, you’re saying?” He slides an arm around McCoy’s back and presses his palm between McCoy’s shoulder blades, urges him lower. “Gonna have to be friends for that to work.”

McCoy licks a stripe from the tip of Jim’s chin to his lower lip before sealing their mouths together and sucking hard on Jim’s tongue. Jim’s erection just isn’t getting there so he lets off, rests his hand just below Jim’s ribs instead. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters at last. He eases back and lies down again, slings one arm over his eyes. “I’m going to sleep.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

He wakes up to Jim snug against his back, the tip of his cock rubbing slickly against McCoy’s skin. “What time is it?” he rasps out.

“Six.” Jim takes his waking as an invitation to get active; he wraps a hand around McCoy and strokes slowly. “Can I still fuck you? I want to fuck you. So bad, just. Please.”

McCoy rocks his hips forward into Jim’s grasp, focuses on the feel of Jim behind him, tries to imagine it pressing into him instead of just against. “Sure, fine, whatever,” he groans groggily, despite the flare of worry in the back of his mind. Jim’s hand works him faster, brings him expertly to the brink - then releases. “Goddammit, you pissant little fucker -”

“On your back,” Jim demands. Some fumbling and then Jim is kneeling between his thighs, pressing a slick finger into him. McCoy frowns at the invasion but tries to accept it, draws one leg up to give Jim better access. “I’ve been having this debate with myself,” he says conversationally, about the time he adds a second finger. McCoy raises an eyebrow at him, silently ordering him to spit it out already. Jim's voice is a welcome distraction, steady and friendly and warm. “Over what you look like when you come. I didn’t get a chance to see it last night.”

“I probably look like a total fucking strung-out moron, same as everyone else.” McCoy shifts and grimaces as Jim pushes a third finger into him, fucks him on his hand until the discomfort eases and he loosens. “Same as you,” he adds, pointedly.

Jim grins and pulls out, rears up over McCoy as he slicks his cock, indulges in lazy strokes. “I know what I look like.” He maneuvers McCoy’s legs, pressing them up and back against his chest, supporting them in the sling of his arms. “Keep that there,” he orders, and lets one go so he can grasp his cock and line it up, begin pressing it into McCoy. “Jerking off in front of the mirror, you know,” he goes on.

McCoy grits his teeth as the head of Jim’s cock breaches him. “Why am I not surprised by that?” he hisses. “Vain motherfucker.”

“Like you haven’t done it.”

“Once, when I was fourteen. Somehow I get the feeling it’s still weekly entertainment for you.”

Jim rocks his hips, goes deeper with every forward push. McCoy will never say it out loud, but he appreciates the care Jim is taking to go slow, be easy on him. “Research,” Jim gasps, finally going still. His forehead glistens in the glow from the entry light, left on all night. “Wouldn’t want to kill the mood with a dorky expression. Bad - bad for the reputation - Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

“I’m gonna stick with my first impression of you as a vain motherfucker.” McCoy twists his hands in the sheets. “C’mon, get on with it already.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Jim says, his voice strained in a way it hasn't been before. He draws back and pushes back in, all the way, slow and purposeful. “Fuck. God, Bones, fuck, that’s good. Wow.” He braces his arms on the bed and thrusts again, quicker, harder. On the next plunge he adjusts his angle and his cocks bumps McCoy’s prostate, elicits a harsh groan. “Okay?”

“Stop talking for once in your life and fuck me,” McCoy snaps. “I’m not gonna break.”

Jim grins. He untangles his arms from McCoy’s legs; McCoy wraps them around Jim’s back, straining to keep them high, and welcomes the plunge of Jim’s tongue when Jim presses down and catches his mouth. Jim begins fucking him in earnest, quick snaps of his hips taking him almost all of the way out and them slamming him home again. He worms a hand between them and jerks McCoy hard and fast, draws back to stare at him. “I want to see,” he gasps. “Come on, come on, come on.”

McCoy comes with a loud, sharp cry, spilling over Jim’s hand and his own stomach. “Oh yeah, that's it,” Jim grunts, fucking him even harder. His mouth roams restlessly over McCoy’s jaw, his neck, and he bites almost-too-hard on the slope of McCoy’s shoulder as his thrusts go erratic and then abruptly still. His cock pulses inside McCoy, milked by McCoy clenching involuntarily around him. “Son of a _bitch_ ,” he groans. He pulls out but doesn’t move over, just settles his weight on top of McCoy. “You smell,” he mutters against McCoy’s neck.

“You’re no blooming rose, yourself,” McCoy grumbles. He lets his legs relax in a sprawl around Jim’s body, ruffles the kid’s sweat-soaked hair affectionately. “Get a good look?”

Jim licks his neck. “You’re gonna get wrinkles, you scowl so much,” he mumbles. “But don’t stop. It’s really hot.”

“You’re a shithead, you know that?” McCoy softens his tone with a wry smile when Jim lifts his head, then wraps a hand around the back of Jim’s neck to pull him into a long kiss. “Christ, I’m gonna need a week to recover from you.”

“Geezer.”

“Fuck off. We just had more sex in one night than I've had in the last two years.”

“We’ll get you back in practice,” Jim promises. He nips at McCoy’s lower lip. “Gonna have to. I’m a horny shithead.”

“Tell me something the entire school doesn’t already know.”

“Hm. Don't worry about who else I'm fucking. I’m a one at a time kind of guy.”

McCoy snorts and shoves Jim off of him. “Sure, right.”

Jim rolls onto his back and scratches lazily at his stomach, uses the edge of the sheet to wipe off his cock. He ignores McCoy’s half-hearted protest and the elbow to his side; the sheets are beyond fucked anyway. “For real. I just don’t tend to hook up with anyone more than once, so it’s not exactly obvious.”

“You expect me to believe that Jim Kirk believes in monogamy?”

“Jim Kirk believes in not wasting effort. Why go to all the trouble of finding someone new if I’ve got a good thing going on already? I mean, you can do whatever, of course, and who knows, stranger things have happened. But if we’re still doing this...it’s not likely. I'll keep you updated.”

“What did I tell you about punching you in the mouth?”

“I’m trying to be honest,” Jim gripes, “not your boyfriend. I’m just saying. Mind if I use your shower?”

“No, I’m gonna kick you out in broad daylight covered in bodily fluids and reeking of sex,” McCoy snaps. “Of course I don’t mind. But you’ll have to either wait or share, ‘cause I’m taking one now.”

Jim yawns. “I’ll wait. I’d probably wind up wanting to blow you, and I doubt your shower's big enough for that.”

“Good God, what have I gotten myself into?” McCoy mumbles, but he's smiling as he gets up and shuffles into the bathroom.


End file.
